Chapter 3: The Silent Stratosphere
Chapter 3: The Nightglass Bridges
The ascent grew steeper, the world dropping away in a slow, shimmering spiral of vapor. Aurora’s breath came thin and quick as she led Dog and the Magician higher than she’d ever dared. Above them, the clouds thinned into vast plateaus of silent thunderheads, their surfaces smooth as blown glass. Here, colors refracted with every movement—lavender gleaming against blue-black, glimmers of gold dappling the air like dew. The last touch of the sun, far below, caught on the edge of the Crystal Spire and sent pale beams up to where only dreamers or fools strayed.
Dog, tongue lolling, trotted in fits and starts at her heels—not as confidently as before. Aurora could see it in his hesitant steps and the nervous flick of his ears. The Magician hovered close as well, coat trailing starlight, boots making small puff-pops on the pristine cloud—though every so often, he glanced skyward as if searching for lost constellations.
At the edge of a new height, the ground vanished entirely. Suspended between the thunderheads hung the legendary Nightglass Bridges—ribbons of translucent darkness arcing in elegant webs across a chasm so deep, Aurora felt as though she might fall straight into the roots of the stars. Below, the rift shimmered with echoes of shapes: old wishes, half-voices, silver sparks swirling like memories at the edge of waking.
The Magician whistled. “Well, if it isn’t a skywalker’s worst delight. Nightglass! One wrong step, and you go spiraling through ten years’ worth of unsent letters—possibly straight out the bottom of your own dreams.”
Dog’s paws skidded to a halt. Even his tail stopped mid-wag. Aurora knelt and ran a hand over the bridge. Under her touch, it felt like chill moonstone, humming with secrets.
She straightened. “Nobody’s falling today. But we’ll need to cross in step—and together.”
Dog braved the first step, paws trembling. The bridge rippled, mirage-like. All at once, a breeze—soft but insistent—stirred around him. Out of thin air, shapes shimmered: bouncing cloud-cats, rolling hills of sun-warmed grass, rivers made from pure, giggling delight. In front of him glowed a vision: a world too bright and peaceful for trouble, stretching forever, scattered with endless bones and tennis balls, warm hands always waiting. No fear—no cold, no wolves sleeping alone, no darkness. Only happiness.
Dog whined, his front paws inching forward. Aurora saw the longing flicker in his eyes—a wish for peace so deep even his steadfast loyalty began to sway. She caught up to him and knelt, looking Dog straight in the eye.
“I know it looks safe. But we wouldn’t have made it this far without your courage,” she said softly, scratching his ears just where he liked. “Home isn’t a place without us in it, remember? If you go, who’ll make sure the Magician doesn’t wear his hat backward again?”
Dog hesitated, torn. But Aurora dug into her pouch and pulled out a scrap of woven cloud—a dog-shaped charm she’d made when she was small and lonely, before Dog ever arrived. She tied it round his collar. “This is for the Shepherd who never leaves anyone behind. Come with me, brave heart.”
Dog stared at the bridge of sun and laughter, then at Aurora. He whined, but pressed into her side, letting the vision fade. The bridge grew firmer beneath his paws, shining with a little golden light.
Just ahead, the Magician was facing the heart of his own detour. Where Aurora and Dog saw only thunderheads and shadows, he saw reflections flickering on all sides: himself younger, stars tangled in his pockets, laughter on his lips. Another image—older, tall and regal, dazzling crowds with impossible wonders, the world hanging on every spell as the sky itself bent to his will. And a third: alone, hat discarded, only moonlight for company, hands empty, eyes searching for something only memory could name.
He stood on the bridge’s edge, blinking, spectacles fogging with uncertainty.
“Marvelous illusions,” he muttered. “But is that what I missed—or what I’m most frightened to gain?”
Aurora stepped up, keeping her voice gentle. “You’ve shown us only your most spectacular tricks. But I like your honest magic even more. The way you make Dog’s laugh brighter. The way you pull color out of gray mornings. Even if tomorrow no one remembers your name, you’re part of this world—our world. And that’s magic too.”
He considered. Then, in a rare moment of humility, the Magician took Aurora’s hand. “You discovered the oldest secret of all, Shepherd. The best magic is sharing wonder together.”
As their hands met, the glass bridge pulsed, sending up a brief, musical shiver—like laughter echoing far away. The visions melted, receding into harmless shimmer. The trio pressed forward, side by side, hearts steadier.
They reached the center of the bridge—wider here, under a dome of translucent cloud. The air glimmered with the threads of dreams suspended in the void. In the very heart floated a colossal dreamcatcher shaped from opaline webs, spun between spires of cloud and anchored with knots of silver lightning. Within its center orbited droplets of liquid sunshine—sun-infused star dust, rarest of all, glowing like gathered dawn.
But the dreamcatcher spun just out of reach, nudged along by eddies of wind and the faint hiss of whispered hope. No ordinary leap would bring it down.
Aurora studied the web. Her cloud-shaping tools—a spindle of mist, a thimble of rain, a scissors made from moonlight—were the kind of things she’d always considered childish, for making sheep and dolphins in the evening haze. But she saw now that every simple shape, every stitch of daydream, could be a tool—a bridge.
She started to weave. Using Dog’s fur-shed for warmth, the Magician’s confetti for color, and the hope in her own two hands, Aurora spun out a ribbon of cloud-twine. She shaped it into a hook, then a dancing kite, then a laughing dog—all the things they’d shared on the way up. The ribbon crackled with a secret joy, growing stronger whenever she remembered her friends’ strengths and her own humility.
Talking as she worked, she narrated every memory aloud—Dog’s clever nose, the Magician’s laughter, her own stubborn longing for wonder—so each strand grew vibrant.
“Almost there! Dog, can you lend me a woof?” she asked, and he barked, sending a tremor along the ribbon. The Magician flicked his wand, adding a dusting of starlight. The kite sailed, the hook caught the edge of the dreamcatcher, and with a gentle tug, the whole assembly drifted down into their waiting hands.
Within, the sun-dust glimmered, wild and warm. Aurora held it aloft, filling her pouch carefully. Daylight spilled out, painting color across the bridge, solidifying their path forward, mending every crack.
As they crossed the final expanse, the chasm below grew quiet. The echo of wishes—now fulfilled, now honored—rose up, wreathing them in a soft welcome. Bound together by shared strengths and chosen dreams, the trio stepped into the highest reaches of the stratosphere, closer than ever to their goal—and closer, perhaps, to understanding that even imperfections could anchor the stars.
Dog’s tail wagged, certain once more. The Magician beamed, hat gleaming brighter than ever. Aurora, for the first time, felt the gift of belonging—woven from courage, kindness, and a thousand quiet triumphs.
Above, the way to the Wolf shone clear—but the Living Shadow, somewhere in the highest clouds, was watching. Aurora closed her fingers around the newly gathered star dust and pressed on, heart brimming with courage and a bold, joyful hope.